Space Fleet Sagas Foundation Trilogy: Books One, Two, and Three in the Space Fleet Sagas

by Don Foxe

  “The material is treated with a chemical compound allowing it to recognize the environment, assess your biological reaction, and adjust accordingly,” Aziza informed them.

  “The hood is part of the suit, with multiple telemetry nodes embedded, which automatically communicate information to a central command receiver. Com receivers are located near your ears,” Aldez explained.

  He removed helmets from each container. “The helmets are also extremely light weight. Constructed of a carbon-composite, including materials reverse engineered from the Martian hangar. With these on, you can receive telemetry. Anything you want, everything you need. In fact, you need to take care regarding sensory overload. We suggest minimal streaming of only essential data. You can voice command requests for audio or visual information.”

  Dr. Spruce, presumably an actual medical doctor, handed out hands and feet. Or, technically, gloves and socks. “Once again, the same material,” he said. “The gloves include bio-sensors able to transmit tactile information from the exterior to the interior of the material. You will experience what something feels like without removing the glove. The socks will mold to your feet. They will provide motion control, arch support, or whatever needed to make extended hours on your feet more tolerable and less stressful.”

  “Try them on,” Trent urged.

  Gregory began peeling clothes off. Coop hesitated. “Don’t be a prude, Coop,” Trent said. “We’re scientists, not voyeurs. Underwear, too,” he said to Anton.

  Because of her history with the two officers, Aziza found something to do, focusing her attention and eyes elsewhere. Dr. Fey found nothing better to do than watch. Drs. Spruce and Aldez opened data-pads and prepared for telemetry signal capture.

  The METS slipped on easily. The silky material stretched to envelope their bodies without friction. They closed in the front, with a band similar to a zip-lock. With hoods up, gloves and socks on, they looked like the performers in puppet plays who blend into the scenery shadows.

  “Helmets,” Trent said. After they donned the helmets, Trent waked up and tapped them half-way along the jawline. Gregory yelped, and Coop became rigid. “Relax. The METS vacuum-seal to your skin. Tap the same spot twice, and they unseal. Now put your clothes back on.”

  They redressed, and other than the obvious helmet, the skin-suits proved non obtrusive and unnoticeable. “You can talk,” Trent told them. “Your voices will come out naturally, unless you request a mute.”

  “These are incredible,” Anton said. “If they do everything you say, we can operate in any environment without needing bulky excess clothing or support vehicles.”

  “They do everything we said,” Aziza assured him. “And a little more. The material is impenetrable. Blades cannot pierce the fabric, and it is capable of stopping a projectile.”

  “A knife is unable to cut us?” Coop asked.

  “Thrust into you, it is equivalent to a punch. A bullet would do more harm, but you would not receive a hole. However, if it hit you over a vital organ, you might die,” Spruce explained.

  “Lasers?” Anton asked.

  “Those will penetrate,” Trent answered. “We found no solutions that did not also make the METS too heavy or less flexible. Avoid lasers.”

  “Explosives?” Coop.

  “Concussion would knock you about, but the concussive force would not penetrate the suit or helmet, and kill you.” Spruce.

  “How do I request telemetry?” Anton.

  “The system is intuitive. Just ask for what you want,” Aldez replied.

  “Schematic with life-form signatures for this building,” he said. Followed by, “Whoa. Cool. Impressive. Turn off schematic. How many of these suits do you have?”

  “Factories in eight locations are working twenty-four hour shifts,” Trent answered. “You should have 50,000, plus a few extra, in time to practice in them your last week in Brazil.”

  “Brazil?” Coop asked.

  “Sorry, I guess I was excited about the suits and forgot to tell you. Pam and the UEC have approved the next phase. You’re heading to the Amazon.”

  CHAPTER 43

  “Fitz, approach the target from the rear, come in hot. Learn when to push your cyclic control forward with the yoke, then pull the collective up to drop your ship beneath the target’s keel. If your target had been a Mischene battlecruiser, instead of PT-109, the move would position you for a one-two at the hangar bay doors.” Loba called out instructions in a calm, relaxed tone. Ari Fitzsimmons’ flight experience included Angel fighters, but no fly and fight time. His current lesson included how to place the fighter in the optimal position for weapons acquisition and maximum effect.

  Elena (callsign LOBA) commanded squadron training, since Cooper could only give one hour of his time to the Angel-Demon squadron for every six spent with ground operations. Elena held air and space combat maneuvering (ASCM) training above the moon. ASCM, still known as dogfighting, though Angel and Demon class ships fought inside atmospheres, as well as in the vacuum of outer space. The PT-109, commanded by Captain Falkner Sligh, pretended to be the enemy. Kennedy, utilizing the tactical data collected during encounters with the Zenge and Mischene battleships, replicated their tendencies in combat.

  “Baker, your chance at the brass ring. Bring Angel 6 around for a pass at the 109. Come down from twelve, slip by on your starboard, and find out how quickly you can reverse into a six o-clock return pass.”

  BAKER was the callsign for Sam Washington. Like Fitzsimmons, Washington flew Angels as a test pilot. His experience in combat training for outer space encounters limited, but he had logged several hours in air-to-air and air-to-surface engagements on UEC assignments. As a Can-Am Naval Pilot, he supported military actions against insurgents and rogue nation-states attempting to damage United Earth initiatives.

  Elena Casalobos, arguably Space Fleet’s most accomplished space-fighter pilot, commanding the squadron in Captain Cooper’s absence made perfect sense. She actually accrued more total hours in fighter-class ships than Coop. She surpassed him following his reassignment to the PT program.

  She currently schooled Fitz, Baker, and Sky on tactics, ASCM training, and operating as a team, not as individual flyers. Sky, normally assigned the co-pilot seat aboard Angel 7, used the opportunities whenever Coop left to train on the surface, to log time behind the main yoke. Storm remained in the com-tac chair. ENS Diego Castillo, a systems operator aboard the 109, handled the co-pilot responsibilities.

  Castillo’s resume did not include experience in a space fighter. He served as a fighter pilot for Can-Am before switching career paths. He could have applied for the Angel program, but opted for computer-systems. The Mexican liked a good fight, but loved the geeky side of life more.

  While Loba conducted combat operations in space, Rachelle Paré acted as wing commander for air-to-surface training. She piloted Angel 4, the oldest ship in the squadron. Paré had more experience in air-to-surface conflicts than any person who ever serve as a combat pilot in Earth’s history. Her proficiency for hitting targets, regardless of how far away, how fast she flew, what she flew or the weapon used earned her the callsign, RAIN. When ground forces needed help, they called in the Rain. She was joined by Noa Tal in Demon 2, the youngest ship in the squadron. Noa flew combat jets with the UE’s Israeli Defense Forces before applying for Space Fleet pilot certification.

  The two ships took turns locating, then firing on smaller and smaller targets set up around the Australian outback. The sparsely populated region selected to prevent training runs from scaring the crap out of civilians. Those few located in the expanse were contacted and warned by ground troops to stay out of combat training zones.

  One concern, two carvide, alien wolves freed from the Zenge and later released into the outback to cull over-population of feral sheep and cattle. Trackers, implanted beneath their hides, placed them out of danger, far from the testing grounds.

  Angel 4, piloted by Rain, with LT.JG. Johnathan Johnson, nick name and call
sign, JON-JON as co-pilot, and Lt. Izzy Domincyzk on com-tac, battled Tal, callsign SABRE, her co-pilot, Lt. Ryan Fox, FLAMER, and their com-tac, Lt. Jim Huard, and the state-of-the-art Demon 2 to a tie.

  Sabre, the better flyer, placed her ship in the best possible positions to aim and fire. Rain the better shooter, could hit anything from anywhere.

  “Rain, Sabre, report.” Loba’s voice crossed the coms channels.

  “Done with fun,” Tal replied.

  “Air-to-ground training completed,” Paré replied. Rain earned her reputation as a stoic, professional, aloof person and officer.

  “Report to EMS2. All teams meet for after-action reviews in two hours,” Loba instructed. “The mission has moved to Phase Two. Ground teams are relocating to the Brazilian Amazon. We join them in forty-eight for air support training, ground spotter training, and everyone needs to re-qualify on personal weapons.”

  “More fun,” Sabre replied. “I do love me some personal combat.”

  “Affirmative,” answered Rain. “Angel 4 and Demon 2 returning to base.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Coop’s mouth literally fell open, and he forgot how to breathe.

  Sky and Storm modeled the recently arrived METS in his personal tent, adjoining the command and control tent. They activated the vacuum seal, the suits molded to their bodies, and Coop’s body reacted while his brain shut down.

  “Captain Cooper, this is Dr. Aldez. Are you okay, Captain? Your telemetry indicates readings outside of norms.”

  Coop answered, taking a moment to remember how to talk. “I’m fine, Doctor. Just a little exertion while I test the METS.”

  “Your bio-chemical readings are interesting.” The voice in his ear belonged to Aziza. The giggle came from Storm, who obviously monitored his communications.

  “Thank you, Dorra. I’m fine,” he replied.

  “I’m muting the warnings for a little while,” she responded. “I’m also muting the alerts for ASkiilamentrae and AStermalanlan. They apparently have similar exaggerated readings.” The following chuckle came from the Chemist.

  “It’s a good thing these suits cannot tear or rip,” Sky said, eyes south of Coop’s waist.

  “Remind me to issue a directive for personnel to activate METS privately, and wear BDUs in public places,” Coop said.

  Sky, Storm, and the other members of Angel-Demon Squadron arrived in Brazil hours earlier. Assigned tents, issued the newest personal laser-sidearms, and instructed on METS.

  Storm walked across the dividing space. She stopped in front of Coop, and placed her hand on his chest.

  “Amazing,” she said. “I can touch everything through the glove.” She ran her hand down his chest, over his abs, and finished by cupping him between the legs. “Everything,” she repeated. “Sky is correct.” She squeezed playfully. “It is a good thing these suits cannot tear,” and added, “from either side.”

  “Captain Cooper?” The call came over the Command Center’s communication channel.

  “Cooper, here.”

  “The Morgan has landed. Captain Hollisvey reports the ship’s hangar is prepared for you, sir.”

  Morgan became the official name for the Parrian cargo ship recaptured during the Star Gazer battle. Kaifer Hollisvey, a Pagoran pilot, also freed from captivity during the battle, commanded the alien vessel. His experience with the systems, as well as recent time spent as a Space Fleet engineer aboard the PT-109, made the decision to assign the ship to an alien captain obvious. An assignment made over objections by Space Fleet traditionalists.

  “Contact those designated for the final Reports and Review meeting aboard the Morgan. Everyone to assemble in the ship’s hangar in sixty-minutes,” he ordered. The cargo ship’s generous bay provided more space, and a more comfortable setting, than any structure hastily constructed in the rainforest.

  “To give us time to undress?” Sky asked.

  “I wish,” Coop replied. “I need the time to get everything ready for the final briefing. You two get fully dressed, and join everyone at the cargo ship.”

  Following his own directive, he hurriedly donned a jungle-camo shirt and cargo pants over the METS. After lacing boots and adding a belt with a combat knife, he pushed the suit’s hood off his head. Even furled at his neck, he could still hear coms through the earbuds, and communicate using the built-in microphones. He would use the trans-com bracelet if he preferred a private conversation with anyone else with a bracelet and special channel.

  He stepped into the heat and humidity of the rainforest, and marveled how the METS kept him cool and comfortable. A stop at the command tent to collect his data, and the commander-in-chief of the Fellen Special Operations and Insertion Mission headed for the last command group mission preparation review. To reach the clearing for ships, he needed to jog a mile through a military tent city. In his high-tech wear, the run was literally no sweat.

  Nathan Trent met him at the Morgan’s ramp.

  “I need to speak with you before you begin your briefing.” The Head of Sciences led Coop to a hover-car parked near the ship. They entered the rear compartment. No one sat in front. Trent unlatched and deployed a view screen tucked away in the headliner of the car.

  “You are looking at a live feed from Mars,” Trent said. On the screen, a ship Coop did not recognize. “It’s a Wraith design,” Trent explained. “In fact, she is the one and only Wraith. Her design and construction have been my personal hobby for the past few years. Creation and assembly also provided a means of evaluating cutting-edge research and development projects.”

  “It looks mean,” Coop said, sliding forward in his seat to inspect the unfamiliar craft. “The nose looks like a Shelby Cobra from the twentieth century.”

  “Good eye,” Trent replied. “The Cobra has always been a favorite of mine. This ship was designed by me, paid for by me, and built for me. I incorporated the Shelby grill. But we don’t have time for me to go into all of the Wraith’s details.”

  The video feed stopped, and the screen returned to the overhead compartment.

  “The Wraith is the stealthiest spaceship ever built. Using composite materials, design angles, and recently developed sensory dampening technology, the ship is undetectable by every scanning system known. You could land her on a Mischene battlecruiser before they realized she shared the same space. Second important point. She operates by AI”

  “Avatar, too?”

  “If you mean is there a ‘Genna,’ then no. It is designed as a two-person fighter, but because of the advanced AI, I can program the ship to perform as an autonomic drone.”

  “Okay, I suppose this is important enough to delay the briefing. We can add the Wraith to the mission, without needing to train a crew. I can use it as a drone for recon missions. But I do not trust it as part of the squadron,” Coop said. Eager to move on to his briefing, he dismissed the ship’s importance.

  “I’ve already initiated the Wraith into your mission,” Trent responded. “Sort of pre-mission actually. I sent her to the Fell system, and programmed the AI to recon the region and report back.”

  “You ran a reconnaissance into enemy space, using an experimental spaceship, without a crew, and without telling me?”

  “Pam knew,” Trent offered in partial defense. “We decided not to tell you in case the Wraith failed to return.”

  “And what about the chance you warn the Mischene we might be up to something, like sending an expedition force, which usually happens after an enemy deploys a scout?” Coop, who was slow to anger, becoming angry. “The capture, even the detection of your ship could put the entire mission in jeopardy.”

  “True,” Trent admitted. “It wasn’t. It spent thirty-six hours in the Fell system, including surface scans of Fell. The intel is here,” he handed Cooper a data stick. “Here’s the short version. Mischene and Zenge forces appear unchanged since your recon and engagement with Demon.”

  Coop, calmer since the news was good. Sending the Wraith reeked of risk, but it finish
ed successfully. “Confirmation of enemy forces means the mission blueprint, based on my earlier numbers, remains reasonable.”

  “As of one week ago,” Trent said. “The time between needed for the Wraith to exit the Fell system, return to Mars, and analysts to assess the information. A synopsis appears on the first page of your download. Besides Mischene and Zenge assets unchanged, the Fell are doing a damn good job of fighting back. Communication intercepts indicate modification of Zenge ground forces into smaller units. A larger number of smaller units addresses the increasing number of hotspots on the planet. Evidently short on weapons, the Fell still manage to use their limited assets to full effect. They also possess technology capable of concealing them from enemy scans.”

  “Did your drone attempt to contact the resistance?”

  “It never entered the atmosphere. It could not access the ozone communications channels. It intercepted enemy transmissions from ship-to-ship, ship-to-surface, and surface broadcasts. That’s how we know they are having difficulty pinpointing resistance camps. They rely primarily on surface-based search teams. That’s the reason they currently deploy smaller units on the planet.”

  “Providing another advantage for our side. Instead of facing a superior force, we will confront only superior numbers. After we eliminate air support, we locate and isolate their ground units. Our people engage the smaller Zenge units with superior numbers, weapons, or both.”

  “The argument Admiral Patterson used to persuade the UEC to authorize your mission,” Trent said, delivering the news like a proud Mama. “Your final Reports and Review briefing has become the announcement of Phase Three, Coop. The mission to Fell is approved.”

  Coop hugged his friend. “You could have led with that, Nathan. It would have saved a lot of time.”

  “No way. I wanted to build the suspense,” Trent replied. “And it is no longer the Fellen Special Operations and Insertion Mission. We are now Operation Crossroads. Whatever happens, Earth is no longer an isolate planet.”